Across the winding streets
thoughts fly like paper sheets
zinging to all directions, random
with urgent, heathen abandon
autumn arrived furiously whipping,
scouring everything dead and living
putting fear deep into our bones
casting the last and coldest stones
in lakes gone murky and still,
as if bearing us ill will
tugging at our very souls,
brazenly strong, wind howls
gone are the morning smiles
ladies in the hottest of styles
slowly the very colour fades away
poor facsimiles are left to stay
of men emptied of sunshine;
like strawberries pickled in brine
